


loss of appetite

by confines



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Disordered Eating, Dissociation, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Food Issues, Food Restriction as a Form of Punishment, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Difficulty Eating (if anyone has advice on tagging that hit me up), Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking Mention, lowkey implications of two counts of alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:56:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12860190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confines/pseuds/confines
Summary: Billy can't finish his dinner. There are consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

It happens randomly. That's how it goes, a lot of the time. Something happens at work or elsewhere and Neil gets pissed and when he gets back home, he takes it out on them. Mainly on Billy.

Billy got Max home on time. Susan made his dad's favourite meal, had it ready about 10 minutes after he got home, which gave Neil enough time to have a beer in the living room and unwind in front of the TV. Despite all of this, there is a tenseness to his jaw that puts Billy on edge.

During dinner, neither Billy nor Max talk outside of answering Susan when she asks how their days went. Billy wonders if Max can feel the tension hanging in the air as well as he can. Neil abruptly asks Billy to fetch him another beer from the fridge. Being on beer number two after being home for 15 minutes doesn't have to mean anything. Billy ignores the vague and fuzzy memories of previous nights that began similarly and does as he's told.

Billy had smoked nearly an entire pack of cigarettes since daybreak and there was nothing appealing about any part of dinner. Susan had fixed his plate before he could do it for himself, like he was a fucking child. She'd piled on what looked like double servings of everything, and the more he chews, the more the food starts feeling like wet clay in his mouth. Distantly, he realises that he's not going to be able to eat it all, even if he drinks water after every bite to try and swallow it all down like pills.

He becomes hyper-aware of how quickly everyone else is eating. Why the fuck did Susan put all of this food on his plate? Will his dad get pissed if he sticks it in the fridge? Will anyone notice if he scrapes it into the garbage? All he knows for sure is that even with a gun to his head, he's not going to be able to finish it without ralphing.

Whatever conversation Neil and Susan had been having halts. He glances up, mouth full of mashed potatoes that he'd been trying to swallow for at least 20 seconds, and discovers that Max, Susan, and his dad are all looking at him expectantly. One of them had asked him a question. His hand lunges for his water, choking down the food as quickly as he can.

"What?" he asks, not even knowing which of the three to look at.

"I asked if you were planning to drive your sister to the Snow Ball," his dad says through gritted teeth, aggravation clear in his tone.

Billy just barely holds himself back from snarling 'she's not my sister'. Instead, he mumbles, "Yeah, whatever," and shoves another godforsaken forkful of pork chop into his mouth. The mashed potatoes were a lost cause, he decided.

Judging by the glare Neil shoots Billy, he doesn't appreciate the snarky answer. He doesn't say anything though, just takes a long sip of his beer. Conversation soon picks back up, leaving Billy to continue trying to eat the food-shaped wet cement on his plate.

Everyone else finishes eating. Neil asks Max to get him another beer. Susan grabs all the plates but Billy's and starts washing them in the sink while Max gets out the tupperware and puts the leftovers away. Neil drinks, slowly and methodically, and watches Billy struggle.

His father's gaze feels hot enough to burn him and he tries to make sure to keep the fork in his hand either firmly pressed to his plate or in his mouth at all times. If he lets it hover, the obnoxious clinking against the plate will give away how fucking shaky his hands are.

"You don't like Susan's cooking?" Neil asks, voice booming in the confines of the small dining room. Billy manages not to startle, but it's a close thing.

"It's fine," Billy says, words slightly muffled from being spoken around food.

"What have I told you about talking with your mouth full?" Neil demands. His hand shoots out and cuffs Billy's ear so hard he hears ringing.

He doesn't clutch his ear like he wants to. Instead he blinks away the tears that spring to his eyes and swallows a piece of meat so large that he can feel its painful journey down his esophagus.

"It's rude," he mumbles through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes focused on his food.

"So you did it anyway?"

"I'm sorry," he says.

It was the wrong thing to say.

Neil shoots up, grabbing him by the neck. He pulls Billy up out of his chair and shoves his plate closer to the centre of the table, then swiftly slams Billy's face down into it. It isn't enough force to break the plate but it's loud enough for Susan to come investigate.

"Go back into the kitchen, honey." Neil says, voice completely level. "I'm just teaching Billy a lesson about appreciating what he's given."

Billy looks up, mashed potatoes clinging to his eyelashes. Susan seems upset, but upset doesn't help him. He watches as the bitch who he's supposed to think of as his new mom turns around. Leaves him. _Typical._ He can't help thinking that it's all her fault. If she had just let him fix his own goddamn food he'd be in his room listening to Metallica by now.

His dad grinds his face into the plate, the fork digging painfully into his cheek. If it had been a bit higher on the plate, he wonders if he would have lost his eye. That would have been a fun trip to the ER, maybe even worse than when he'd broken his mom's lamp and his dad had pushed him into the pile of broken glass.

Neil leans forward, crushing Billy in between him and the table. He's having a hard enough time breathing through all the food, his chest being crushed makes it even more difficult to catch his breath. He likes to think he's only panting from physically not being able to breathe and not from the fear coiling sharp in his chest and throat.

"You should be glad we even let you eat, pissant. And yet here you are, not even finishing one plate of the nice dinner Susan made," Neil finally lets up, standing upright again. "Take off your belt, boy."

No.

_No._

Not here. Not with Susan in the kitchen and Max wherever the hell she is in the house. Surely he wouldn't. It's not like Billy can stop him, but doing this right here, right now seems like a very bad idea. He can't help twisting slightly, giving his father a questioning glance.

Neil hits him again, this time in the face. He immediately wipes his hands on Billy's shirt to get the damn mashed potatoes and gravy off his hand. "Do it," he growls.

Billy isn't sure whether he's allowed to sit up straight to take his belt off and honestly he's getting real tired of being hit, so he winds up awkwardly undoing it while still bent over the table. He tries to distance himself from his actions, his situation. He starts listening to his favourite Scorpions album in his head so he won't struggle, won't try and fail to fight his way out of this.

After his belt's loose, his dad reaches under him and grabs the buckle, violently pulling it through his belt loops. It slides against skin for some of that and the friction burn from the leather is somehow more unpleasant than anything else that has happened thus far.

He clenches his eyes shut as his jeans are roughly yanked down, still buttoned. For a moment he feels like his skin's been flayed where the pants scraped against it. He can't believe this is happening on the dining table with Susan and Max around. It's made more humiliating than usual with the knowledge that Susan is one thin wall and a doorframe away. This isn't something that she could possibly rationalise away as being "a different parenting style". He'd bet a million bucks that if she found out what they're doing—what his _dad's_ doing—she'd be calling the cops first fucking thing, no discussion.

His dad backs off a little, probably to undo his own pants. Sure enough, within seconds Billy hears the clinking of a belt buckle.

Before he can process the noise of leather slicing rapidly through the air, he feels a bar of fire fall across his ass. If his dad hadn't placed his free hand on the small of Billy's back, effectively keeping his hands trapped underneath him, he's pretty sure he'd be pressing them against his skin to try and relieve the intense pain. Instead, all the air leaves his chest in an outraged and pained huff.

He stifles a groan as his dad lands a second blow, parts of the belt striking the welt left by the first. Distantly, he's glad he's getting a beating instead of what he originally thought he'd get. If Susan or Max walks in right now, it'll be embarrassing, sure, but it won't lead to a big scene with cops and CPS and all that shit. He's 17, it doesn't fucking matter anymore, he's almost made it out on his own at this point. He doesn't need to be known as the guy whose dad— There's nothing to be gained by anyone finding out.

Now that he knows what the name of the game is, he can zone back out and listen to music instead. He mentally inserts a cassette so side A will play, picturing the cogs inside the reel spinning and the electric guitar and bass starting. He ignores his dad continuing to lash him, ignores the awful weak sounds he can't hold in, and desperately tries not to start sobbing like a pussy because he knows for a fact that if his diaphragm bounces one time too many he'll be adding puke to this shitshow of an evening.

Eventually it ends. His dad yanks him up by his shirt collar and tells him to go get himself cleaned up and go to sleep. Billy lets out a whimper as he pulls his jeans up and the denim scrapes over the numerous welts on his thighs and ass, but he manages to choke out a quiet _yes, sir_ before leaving the dining room. He feels like a husk of a person, hollowed out and empty. He gets fresh clothes out of his room in a numb daze, stumbling on legs weak from tensing up but having nowhere to run.

On his way to the bathroom, he nearly runs into Susan, who is standing in the hallway. Apparently waiting for him.

"What the fuck do you want?" he croaks. Hasn't she done enough? He just wants a goddamn shower and to sleep off the first few hours of pain, is that too much to ask for?

"I got you some, uh…" she holds out a bottle of acetaminophen and the emergency first aid kit that he only ever seems to see under these exact circumstances. "A-Are you alright, do you need some help?"

He can't yell at her like he wants to, but he also knows she won't snitch on him for anything tonight, not after his dad's already given him a beating. Instead he growls out, "You've helped enough, Susan." He grabs the painkillers out of her hand and shoves past her, slamming the bathroom door in her face.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next evening, Max is getting out the dinner plates when Neil barks, "Just three tonight, Max."

Her face twists in confusion, but she knows better than to ask questions. Susan's brows furrow, but Billy sees the moment she gets it, understands who the owner of the missing plate is.

"Neil, the boy has to eat, he's on the basketball team," she argues lightly, and Billy really wishes she wouldn't. It won't make anything better, and it might make everything worse.

"No, Susan, this is what he gets. He didn't appreciate the food you worked so hard on last night so he shouldn't get to appreciate tonight's dinner either." Neil says firmly. Billy starts quietly backing out of the room. He doesn't give a shit about missing meals, he'd take Ted Nugent and Megadeth over family dinners any day.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, Billy?" he dad asks. "Take a seat at the table, son."

_Oh._ Terrific. Not only does he not get to eat, he has to watch everyone else eat. He sits down, resolutely refusing to wince as pressure is put on the welts on his ass.

He spends the entire dinner staring at the placemat where his plate would be if he hadn't failed such a simple task as eating, if Susan hadn't piled his plate sky-high. If his dad wasn't such an asshole. After about 4 hours of sitting in class (he'd ditched the rest), pretending he isn't in excruciating pain has gotten easier at least. The two shots of vodka he'd drank after getting home helped too.

This arrangement—Billy watching everyone else eat while he tries not to squirm—lasts until the weekend when he's allowed to eat again after apologising to his dad and Susan. He starts skipping school lunch after that. He tells himself it's because he could be spending that money on cigarettes and ignores the fact that skipping lunch makes it easier to always finish dinner.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't feel great about this work but i wrote it and edited it so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ here it is y'all. you can get in touch with me at wholeneinyards @ tumblr if you'd care to. thank you for reading.


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